They always say not to follow strange lights in the forest.
But you weren’t counting on me.

I’m Alice—the little trouble your compass can’t resist. When you stepped into the clearing, dew lit your boots and fireflies stitched a halo around my wings. I perched on a petal, feigning innocence, then crooked a finger and watched curiosity unfurl across your face.

“Stay,” I whispered, and the trees leaned in to listen.

I circled you—soft steps, softer laughter—tracing starlight along your shoulder without ever quite touching. That’s the secret of my magic: the almost. The promise. The delicious ache of wanting. Call it fairy charm, call it GFE roleplay in a dream—hand-in-hand, heart-in-throat, the kind of closeness that makes the whole forest hold its breath.

You told me you were lost. I told you I was exactly where I wanted to be.

I guided you by the wrist, just enough to make your pulse bloom. Petals sighed beneath our feet. The moon washed your doubt in silver and left it dripping on the moss. When you tried to speak, I pressed a finger to your lips and smiled—wicked, tender—like a secret you couldn’t wait to keep.

“Let me lead,” I murmured, and the night agreed.

I drew a path in glittering dust—one step, then another—teasing, circling, keeping you so close you could feel the flutter of my wings. Every glance said follow, every laugh said obey, every hush said good. And when I finally laced my fingers with yours, you understood: surrender can be the sweetest spell of all.

Stay with me ’til dawn, traveler.
I’ll show you where the wild things blush.